


Apathy & Happenstance

by RedEyedRyu



Category: Underfell - Fandom, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Don't expect romance any time in the near future, F/M, Post Pacifist Route, Underfell characters in Undertale, dimension hopping, fun times ahead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-10-28 05:55:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10825155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedEyedRyu/pseuds/RedEyedRyu
Summary: It’s been a good handful of years since monsters and magic's been introduced to the modern world. A lot of people thought this would be a harbinger of change—of better things to come—and maybe for some, it was. For you, however, it meant absolutely nothing. Every day proceeded the same as all others before it: you went to work, came home, went to bed—rinse and repeat until your inevitable death. It didn’t matter that there was suddenly magic in the world, that fantastical creatures now walked the streets. You’re completely fine with your rather drab, normal life. This way, life is comfortable, life is safe; you can’t get hurt if you don’t build an attachment to anything, if you don’t force yourself to interact with people more than necessary.What then, do you do when you find yourself thrust into a situation you would like nothing more than to remove yourself from? Playing host to a couple of bad-mouthed, hot tempered skeletal monsters wasn’t in your game plan. Building attachments to anyone, let alone these seemingly misplaced monsters, was especially not part of said plan. But it’s not like you can just toss them on the street to fend for themselves in a world so similar, yet so very different from their own.





	1. Nihilism and the Cold-Shoulder

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! ~~Yes, here we go with yet _another_ fic when I have yet to update any others in _months_ I'materribleperson~~
> 
> So I had a dream last month involving Underfell Papyrus, and a couple weeks after that, one with Underfell Sans, though I can't quite recall the specifics of that last one. Let me admit to something here: I'm a sucker for Underfell. I have a weak spot for the tsundere Captain of the Royal Guard and his asshole of an older brother. So with these dreams and Underfell rather consistently being on the brain ( ~~I really need to draw more Underfell stuff tbh~~ ) I eventually began stewing on a new idea for a story. After thinking on it for a good couple weeks and tossing scenarios back and forth, I finally decided to just cave and put thought to paper—so to speak. Hope y'all enjoy whatever... _this_ winds up turning into!

The day had started out much like any other that had preceded it. It was one of your days off and you had been spending it doing what you usually did: surfing the internet and accomplishing absolutely nothing. You were curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, body pressed into the corner cushions where the couch’s armrest met the back, laptop perched upon your thighs. You were jumping back and forth between a blogging platform, a video hosting website, and whatever else you managed to stumble upon with your short attention span.

Music hummed in the background, a white noise to chase off the ever present, oppressive silence of your apartment, of the mundane noises of traffic and the people that passed by, of the world outside the walls of your humble abode. Kind of a drab setup, but you didn't mind. Not really, anyway. It's not like much of anything got under your skin these days, after all. You would repeat this same scenario day after day, only broken up by your shifts at work, though those too fit into their own pattern—just another mindless repeat of every day before and every day to be of your rather pointless life.

One would have thought the rather Earth-shattering revelation that monsters were real, that magic was indeed a very real, tangible thing, would have changed something about your life. Maybe make it more exciting, add a little spice to your rather apathetic existence… but alas, nothing changed. Not in the handful of years since that one kid (Frank? Fin? Francis? Something along those lines…) had apparently shattered a magical, millennium old barrier; not since monsters had gained proper rights and freedoms as a people; and still, not a single thing changed as magic and monsters spread across the globe, the novelty and mysticism quickly wearing off, giving way to something commonplace—something as equally mundane as your own uninteresting existence. Simply put, monsters and magic were now just as commonplace as you or any other living creature on this planet: fated to live a pointless, meaningless life and then die. Simple as that.

It was comforting, in a sense, to know that everything eventually amounted to nothing—it meant everyone was equal. No matter what one did, what one managed to accomplish in their life, death still came to all, human and monster alike, and perhaps it was a twisted thing to think, but it comforted you. Made you smile and hum in contentment because why bother forcing yourself to feel anything, to chase unattainable, unrealistic dreams, when everything would amount to nothing in the end? Accepting this idea made life manageable, made it easy. ~~Made it harder for people to hurt you.~~

Suffice it to say, you didn't welcome change, didn't welcome things that challenged your view on the world and, by extension, life itself.

It had started with a disruption of your internet connection, only noticeable in the music you had streaming to your speakers through your computer. The audio paused and skipped at random intervals, followed by a strange static—a different, unsettling kind of white noise—before the screen of your laptop flickered, the minimal lighting and various other electronics in the room mirroring your computer’s odd behavior. Your speakers crackled and popped as you felt the hairs on the back of your neck rise. There was a sudden tension in the air, something reminiscent of the charge carried in the atmosphere before lightning strikes.

You furrowed your brows at the strange sensation, lips dipping into a frown. A quick glance at your drawn curtains, at the golden sunlight spilling through the cracks between the covers and behind the railing, was enough to tell you there was no storm. So what, then, was this strange feeling? Like energy building and building, just _begging_ to be released. The fleeting thought of some kind of gas leak, of your building suddenly combusting into flames, flickered across your mind before quickly being dismissed; a bit of a stretch, and it wouldn't explain the odd behavior of your electronics. However, the idea of an early exit wasn't an unwelcome thought, morbid as it may be.

Just as you moved to set your laptop on the cushion beside you, one leg swinging over the edge of the couch as you readied to stand, to investigate the state of your apartment, an ear-splitting screech rang out from your speakers. You covered your ears, hands shooting up to block the offending noise from your now sensitive eardrums. Through your pained, wincing expression, you noticed the television had flickered on, the scrambled black and grey and white static rolling across the screen. A quick glance to the display of the laptop you had set beside you greets you with a lovely shade of blue before it flickers to black, seemingly having shut off.

You hoped it wasn't broken. It would really suck to have to buy a new one—it’s barely over a year old, after all.

You turned your attention back to the TV, managing to fully slide off the couch this time. As soon as the pads of your feet met the fibers of the rug beneath you, the television screen went black, the ear-bursting screeching from the speakers instantly ceasing as well. Your brows dipped lower yet, not quite scowling but no longer merely frowning.

“Wha…”

And then, that building energy you had been feeling earlier released. There's a sudden pulse before you, a pressure that hits you like a shock wave square in the chest, pushing you back into the couch and robbing your lungs of any air. You choked and struggled for breath, vision momentarily obscured by an enveloping blackness and accompanying starbursts.

It takes you a moment (or three) before you're able to make sense of the world again, before you're able to regain some semblance of an even breathing pattern. Your eyes slowly flickered open (when had you even closed them?) and it doesn't take you long to realize there's something… _wrong._ Something here that shouldn't be.

Never mind the fact that every single one of your electronics seemed to have been fried by… _whatever_ that pulse of energy had been, never mind the fact that you just had the wind knocked out of you from some kind of force from _inside your own home_ , and never mind that weird ass, horror movie bullshit setup because suddenly, you’re faced with the fact that you're no longer alone.

“nnngh… what tha hell, boss?”

The hair on the back of your neck has bristled again, though for a very different reason this time around.

“DON’T…” The grating sound of bone scratching against bone meets your ears and you can't quite suppress the shudder that wracks through your body. That obnoxiously loud voice doesn't help, either. “DON’T TRY TO PIN THIS ON ME, YOU USELESS SACK OF BONES…”

Why are there skeletons in your living room? _How_ are there skeletons in your living room? Just _what the hell is going on?!_

You take a moment to draw in a deep, heavy inhale. Hold it for a beat. One. Two. Three. Exhale with a groan at four, body slumping against the cushions of the couch. You must have drawn the attention of the squabbling skeletons with that because you're suddenly met with the unmistakable sound of teeth clacking shut. You can practically _feel_ their gaze on you, your skin prickling with goosebumps. Guess they hadn't noticed you at first, far too engrossed in their arguing.

You ignore acknowledging their presence and attention by tucking your legs under you, resuming your comfortable position pressed into a corner of the couch. You pull your computer back into your lap and press the power button, releasing a pleasant hum when the laptop boots with no problem whatsoever. Maybe if you don't acknowledge the problem, neither will reality.


	2. Vexation and Aversion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s something oddly familiar about these skeletons but you just can’t seem to put your finger on what, exactly, it is about them that’s nagging at the back of your mind...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness, y'all! (ﾍﾟ◇ﾟ)」   
>  Wasn't expecting such a strong reception to this fic with so little to go off of!   
>  Y'all're so sweet, thank you~ (〃￣ω￣〃)ゞ

“hey. bud.” Don't look at it. Absolutely _do not look at it_. Don't acknowledge it, don't even breathe the same air as it. ...no, okay, that last one might be a bit hard to manage (speaking of, do skeletons even breathe in the first place?). “ _hey._ i know ya can hear me, sweetheart.”

Your brows furrow, lips pressing into a tight, straight line. Ignoring them isn't working, they're _still here. Why are they still here?_

“HUMAN!” cries the second one _—_ the obnoxiously loud, tall, and pointy one.

Don't look at it, girl. There's still a chance they’ll go away, that this is all a figment of your imagination or something.

“NYNNNGH!!” it growls in frustration at your unresponsiveness, to not being acknowledged. It stomps a booted foot against the ground, various knickknacks shaking and jostling with the impact.

...so much for them being imaginary.

“ARE YOU PERHAPS TOO **STUPID** TO COMPREHEND THAT THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS STANDS BEFORE YOU?” ...seriously? “OR PERHAPS… YOU ARE PARALYZED IN FEAR!” Oh it _cannot_ be serious _—_ though, it _did_ sound rather smug just then...

It starts laughing. A somehow even _more_ obnoxious, grating sound than its nails-on-a-chalkboard speaking voice. You have to bite the inside of your mouth to keep yourself from saying anything (and boy would you like to say something) but a snort still manages to weasel its way out.

The taller, more pokey skeleton freezes, and despite not having any indicator of where its gaze is directed with those empty eye sockets, you get the distinct feeling it's staring right at you. Although… maybe _glaring_ is a better word? Regardless, don't look to confirm; just continue to keep the skeletons in your peripheral vision and nothing more.

“HUMAN…” There’s something of a warning tone to its voice. “DID YOU JUST… **LAUGH** AT ME?” It doesn’t sound happy. The smaller, more rounded looking one seems to be… sweating? Is its perspiration _red_?

“c-c’mon, boss. i’m sure she didn't mean nothin’...”

“SHUT **UP** _,_ SANS.” the pointy skeleton yells at the sweaty one, stomping its foot once more, the rather forceful action causing a couple more knickknacks around the room to rattle. You're silently hoping nothing winds up tumbling off the walls or shelves if it keeps that up.

It's just as you're releasing an incredibly heavy, woeful sigh that the loud one rounds its attention back on you. It’s taken a step towards you, one red-gloved hand perched on the crest of hip bones peeking out from tight black pants, the opposite hand aimed and pointing straight at your face. You silently thank small miracles for the fact the coffee table forcefully separates the two of you, as you get the feeling its gloved finger would probably be lodged somewhere in the vicinity of your own eye socket otherwise.

“YOU!” the skeleton cries, “PATHETIC _HUMAN!_ YOU _DARE_ MOCK ME? PAPYRUS, CAPTAIN OF HIS HIGHNESS’S MOST PRESTIGIOUS AND _TERRIFYING_ ROYAL GUARD?!”

Bite your tongue, girl. Don't give it what it wants.

The next few seconds that pass are awkward and riddled with tension but you stay firm in your stoicism.

“NNNGH!! ANSWER ME, YOU FILTHY, WRETCHED CREATURE!”

Attention. It clearly wants attention. Any kind of acknowledgement or validation.

“SAY SOMETHING, YOU IMBECILE! OR I SHALL BE FORCED T-”

You interrupt its little tirade with a loud _slap_ from your laptop _—_ perhaps closing it with a wee bit more force than you had meant—but it's enough of a distraction to shut the loud mouth up.

Perplexed, the two skeletons watch in silence as you slide off the couch, laptop grasped between your hands. As you bend over the coffee table you catch sight of the tall one snapping to attention, feet shifting to stand up straight and tall, arms crossing over its chest.

“NYEH HEH HEH,” it laughs as you set your laptop on the table, as you then lift to straighten yourself. “FINALLY BUILT UP THE COURAGE TO FACE OFF AGAINST THE TERRIBLE PAPYRUS, HAVE YO-” Its voice cuts off as you abruptly turn from it and its shorter, sweaty counterpart.

“HUMAN?!” Its tone is one of bafflement as you pad your way across the floor, from the plush area rug of the living room to the chilled wooden floors by your dining area, towards the key rack hanging by the door.

“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE GOING?!” You grab a jacket hanging nearby, slip into your shoes, and grab the keys off the rack, tossing them into a pocket. “WE ARE NOT DONE HERE!!” There's the unmistakable sound of it stomping its foot, of various knickknacks jostling about.

Don't turn to look. Don't even pause to consider. Just keep going through the motions of heading out.

You pat a pocket of your jacket, content when you're met with the feel of your cell phone. Pat another and you find your wallet. Good, you've got everything.

“GET BACK HERE, HUMAN! I AM NOT DONE SPEAKING TO YOU, YOU INFURIATING WRETCH!”

Hah. Joke’s on it if it thinks yelling demands and acting like an all around pompous buffoon will get you to acquiesce to its demands.

You grasp the handle of the door, twist, and without a glance back to the strange, red and black clad skeletons that had literally appeared out of thin air, you step out into the breezeway, door clicking shut behind you. You lock it before turning around and heading towards the stairs. There's silence at your back for a beat but as you reach the stairway you hear the unmistakable, muffled screaming of “The great and terrible Papyrus” coming from your apartment. If you were a more petty person you’d be reveling at the reaction you had elicited. Instead, you simply proceed on your way out. Judging by that particular skeleton’s reactions to being rebuffed, it's probably used to getting its way.

A hand slides into a pocket of your jacket to retrieve your phone. Maneuvering passed the lock screen, you pull up your preferred search engine. ‘ _Skeleton monsters, Sans and Papyrus’_ is entered into the search bar as you work your way down a flight of stairs.

Your brows furrow as you hit ‘ _search_ ’, lips pulled to one side in silent contemplation. There was something vaguely familiar about those two, their names especially so, but you just can't quite put your finger on exactly _why_ they evoke such an odd reaction.

You reach the ground floor as the search index pulls up several pages worth of results. You only need to see the first to find what you're looking for.

“What the…”

You have to stop and take a good, hard look at the search results, at the images greeting you from the top of the page. It's unmistakable that Sans and Papyrus are indeed the names of a couple skeleton monsters but the ones smiling up at you from the pictures don't quite match the rather… for lack of a better world… _edgy_ ones you had just left behind in your apartment. For one, these two look a whole heck of a lot more friendly. Secondly, you now remember why the names sounded so familiar.

Sans and Papyrus were part of the initial group of monsters to emerge from Mount Ebott, along with that one kid whose name you can't seem to remember. You think one of them had been some kind of mascot? A bodyguard?? You're not sure; you’ve never exactly been able to keep up-to-date with the news. Regardless, you recall having heard those name floating around for a good while, along with… who else was it? Alpyne? Undphys? No, those don't sound right… There's Toriel and Asgore—they're easy enough to remember since they're the Queen and King, respectively, and their names are always popping up _everywhere_ , but you're finding it rather difficult to recall everyone else’s names… Oh well. Not like that's exactly pertinent to your current predicament.

Anyway! You're letting your mind wander. Get back on topic!

Alright. So. If you base the names to match up to general physical similarities, then the Sans you're looking at, aside from sporting a cooler color scheme of blues and whites, is missing the shark teeth and that one golden tooth of the _other_ Sans. He’s wearing a loose white tee with a blue and grey zip-up hoodie over top, whereas the Sans upstairs is sporting a red turtleneck sweater under a black, fur-lined jacket accented in red and gold—and if you were being honest, it looked like something your younger self probably would have picked up from a certain store in the mall. Much like the sweaty Sans, this one’s also wearing black basketball shorts, though the line stretching down from top to bottom is white, rather than gold. The blue Sans also looks a lot less tense, more relaxed, despite noticeable dark rings around the bottom of his sockets.

The differences are more noticeable between the two Papyrus. ...Papyruses? ...Papyri? Whatever, that's not important.

While the pictured Papyrus definitely shares the physical characteristics of the one you left screaming in your wake, this one, too, is lacking in the pointy teeth department. He also doesn't have those jagged claw (?) marks across his left eye socket that his pointy doppelgänger does. He’s got some kind of rounded, white armor encasing his rib cage—it vaguely reminds to of an old video game from your youth that you never managed to finish. It's the polar opposite of his counterpart’s black, pointy variant. Some kind of blue underwear over black leggings (a reference to those good ol’ spandex wearing superheroes?) that counter the tight black pants of his other, though the red boots and gloves aren't too dissimilar. You find it interesting to note that both wear an overly large, red scarf wrapped around their neck, positioned in such a way that it could double as a cape.

“Weird…” you mutter, squinting your eyes at the screen and resuming your trek out and away from your apartment—from the nonsense that the universe decided to dump upon you. “They're like evil, edgy clones or something…”

You purse your lips, your face crinkling in intense thought and confusion. You ponder the possibility of the two pairs of monsters having the same names as being a coincidence—after all, just look at how many humans share the same name—but how would that explain their similarities? Twins? Monsters (or at least their King) _do_ have a penchant for being absolutely terrible when it comes to names… but still, something just doesn't feel right, doesn't quite match up.

You stop in your aimless wandering at a street corner, the signal across the road indicating pedestrian traffic to stop, and hang your head, an exasperated sigh escaping from between your lips.

_Just what are you going to do about this?_    

 

> *** Contact the friendlier looking Sans and Papyrus**
> 
> *** Do nothing; you can deal with this mess later**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, similar to how things work with my other fic, **Glitches** , ( ~~another fic I really need to update it's been a year jfc~~ ) I'll be giving you guys choices that affect the flow of the story every now and again. That way, y'all can also have some influence on how the story unfolds. Go ahead and let me know which of the two options _you_ would choose if you were in Reader's situation—majority rules and all that business.
> 
> [Come bother me on tumblr](http://redeyedryu.tumblr.com/)! I post doodles (sometimes), answer asks, and idk... sit around and twiddle my thumbs? I lead a very exciting life, I know.


	3. Productivity and Perplexity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go for a walk, grab some food, and get some questions answered. A hundred more spring up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interestingly enough, I think there was only one vote to do nothing? Y'all so eager to bring the Classics into this.

**In the end, you decide it might be best to try and get in contact with the “friendly” looking version of Sans and Papyrus.** However, doing so winds up a bit more troublesome than you would have thought.

Turns out Sans doesn't have any kind of social media account you can tie him to, though there seem to be quite a lot of fan pages dedicated to him? For some reason?? Across all _kinds_ of different media platforms??? Apparently he's some kind of stand up comedian?

...

Wait a second…

...

Sans… Stand up comedian... A comic... A _Comic Sans._ Your expression goes deadpan at that realization and you barely manage to contain the urge to groan.

“Oh my god…” you mutter aloud, not even a second later, another realization clicking into place.

Then wouldn't that mean Papyrus as in the _other_ graphic designer’s nightmare of a font? Was that intentional? A happy coincidence?

You shake your head, begrudgingly bemused. What's next, someone named after Wingdings? _Jokerman?_ You're silently snickering at the idea of someone possessing the name ‘Impact’ as you work on searching up Papyrus. Maybe you’ll have better luck with him?

You're not disappointed.

Papyrus, or as you have managed to stumble upon his most used online handle: CoolSkeleton95, appears to have an _overabundance_ of accounts across various social media websites. It doesn't take you long at all to find him on numerous social platforms, and judging by his friend count, it doesn't look like he _ever_ denies a friend request. You didn't even know you could have that many friends on ExpressionBook.

Now… The big question is, how are you supposed to even broach this odd situation?

“Hey, so these two skeleton monsters that look an awful lot like you and your brother kinda just poofed into my apartment outta thin air. I'd really appreciate it if you guys would come and take them off my hands.”

...

You run a hand through your hair and puff up a cheek in frustration, pausing to lean against a nearby building. Yeah, no way is that going to work as an opener. Monsters and magic might be an accepted fact of life these days but that doesn't mean people are suddenly going to believe crazy talk.

You push off the building with a huff, resuming your aimless wandering.

“So what am I supposed to do, then?” you query the air around you, head snapping back with a sigh. “So you don't know me, and I don't know you, but d’you think you could come over to my place and rid me of a couple skeletons?” You shake your head with a chuckle. That sounded even worse. Like you were asking someone over to dispose of dead bodies or… something.

You sigh. Why does communication have to be so hard?

“I'm gonna be stuck with them forever, aren't I?” you mutter out, head hanging forward.

With any luck they won't have stuck around your apartment. Maybe they left? Maybe when you get back no one will be there and you can just write off the incident as some kind of lucid day dream? And then it I occurs to you that you just left two strangers unattended in your apartment. With all your stuff… Oops. Remedy that thought: You'll be lucky if they're gone and all your stuff is still in your apartment when you get home. You entertain the idea of running home, or of calling the cops, but inevitably you elect to merely shrug it off. You've got insurance if the worst case scenario happens, and it's not like you're especially attached to anything back at your place anyway. They're just material possessions, after all; easily replaced if lost or broken.

As you're crossing another intersection, one block deeper into the downtown district, you decide you've been overthinking this whole thing. Forgoing sending out a friend request first, you type out a message to the less edgy Papyrus.

**_You_ ** _: Are there any other skeleton monsters beside you and your brother?_

You nod to yourself, satisfied. Straight to the point and it doesn't give away anything unnecessary, nor does it come off as creepy and easy to misinterpret. You pocket your phone to await a response, feeling as if a weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

Boy does it feel good to be productive! You should reward yourself, you think, just as you round a corner and find yourself standing before your favorite local diner. Huh. Guess your subconscious was on the same page. There's a sudden grumble in your stomach and you're salivating, enticed by the idea of a good burger, fries, and an old fashioned milkshake.

Heck. Yes.

As you're pushing open the door there’s a ping from your pocket. A couple of wait staff greet you by name with a smile and wave as you walk through the door, retrieving your cell. You reciprocate their greeting as you take a seat (always a corner booth, close to the back), noting Papyrus has already responded.

For some reason you thought it would take a bit longer to get a response. Especially from someone who seemed to be such a social butterfly _—_ surely he must get tons of messages throughout the day _—_ but you're not going to complain. Papyrus’s speedy response time means you'll be able to get this figured out all the quicker.

**_THE GREAT PAPYRUS_ ** _: GREETINGS, HUMAN! I SEE THAT YOU ARE INTERESTED IN SKELETON MONSTERS—A FITTING CHOICE, AS SKELETONS ARE QUITE GREAT! YOU HAVE POSED A MOST INTERESTING QUESTION, THOUGH I MUST CONFESS THAT IF THERE ARE ANY SKELETONS BESIDE MY BROTHER AND I, I HAVE NEVER MET THEM._

Dang it. That does not bode well.

You tap an index finger on the table (a nervous habit you’ve never quite been able to get under control) and frown. Not a good omen but it doesn’t necessarily mean you’re boned.

“Heh. Boned.” You can’t help but snicker at the unintentional pun. It's silly and dumb but what can you say, you're easily amused.

There’s a bit more to the message, interestingly enough, so you read on.

**_THE GREAT PAPYRUS_ ** _: I SEE THAT YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN TO SEND ME A REQUEST OF FRIENDSHIP, SO I HAVE DONE YOU THE FAVOR OF SENDING ONE MYSELF! NO THANKS ARE NECESSARY, YOU ARE WELCOME!_

You quirk a brow at that last bit, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. What an interesting character this skeleton is. The contrast between him and his spiky counterpart couldn't be more notable—and you haven’t even met this one.

Looking at your notifications, you do indeed see a friend request from “THE GREAT PAPYRUS”. Clicking it brings you to the ExpressionBook app proper and you accept it—not like it would hurt anything to do so. Besides, you can always delete him from your friend’s list later.

It’s just as you’re switching back over to the messenger to type out a reply that a waitress comes over to take your order.

“Hey there, Y/n!” she greets you with a smile. “Didya need a menu or’re you gonna get the usual?”

You flip your phone over and place it down on the table, sliding it a bit to the side. You smile up at her and respond, “Hey Julie! The usual would be great, thank you.” You can respond to Papyrus later, you decide, food first.

 

* * *

 

 It’s a little over an hour later and you’re standing outside your apartment door, staring heatedly at it. You’ve got a paper bag in one hand and your keys in the other. You’re straining your ears, half tempted to press yourself against the door, trying to hear anything from inside. It’s silent, and that can be a good thing, but it could also be a very bad thing.

You take a deep breath, hold it in for one second. Two. Three. Exhale at four. Time to face the music. Either they’re gone and everything’s still there, they’re gone and so is everything in your apartment, or—heaven forbid—they’re still there and you didn’t just dream that whole situation up.

You unlock the door, fingers wrapping around the silver metal handle. Subconsciously, your grip tightens on the paper bag in your opposite hand, the paper crinkling ever so slightly with the action, and then you twist the knob. The door swings open and you step through the threshold. A quick glance around of what you can see shows everything still appears to be in order…

And then you hear it—a muted _thump, thump, thump_ of something tapping out a steady rhythm. It stops abruptly, however, to be replaced by the sound of fabric shifting and of weight being displaced from the cushions of your couch. Then there is the sound of footsteps, two pairs, closing in on you. One pair sounds heavy and rushed, as if its owner is walking with a very distinct purpose in mind; the other a slower, more casual beat. You sigh.

Dang it. So much for that.

You slip your shoes off, hang your keys on the rack nearby, and slip out of your jacket, hanging it on the coatrack to the side. By the time you're done there are two skeletons standing in front of you and they don't exactly look like happy campers.

Your eyes flick over them, a brow quirking at the impatient look to the spiky Edgelord. He’s got his arms crossed, his sockets angled sharply. You get the feeling that if he had a nose, he'd be looking down it at you. You're pretty sure he’s scowling, too.

The sweaty one doesn't look all that different from earlier, though there appears to be more red sweat beaded along the crown of his skull than earlier. He's also shifting nervously, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched, shark grin tight and bordering on something of a grimace.

It's weird, you can't help but think, how similar they look to the other two and can yet be so blaringly different.

“Ah!” you exclaim with a snap, the action smoothly transitioning into a point, that reminds you. “That's right! I nearly forgot.”

Before either of them can say anything, you twirl around to dig through the pocket of the jacket you had tossed your phone in. Pulling your cell out (and awkwardly fumbling with the paper bag in your hand for a brief moment) you quickly pull up your camera app and snap a pic. After the picture’s taken you tilt your focus down, intent on pulling up the specific messaging app you need. You miss the way Papyrus’s sockets squint at the sound of a shutter going off, miss the way Sans’s sockets crease and his frown dips into a scowl, far too focused on finally responding to the more bubbly skeleton’s message from earlier.

**_You_ ** _: [image attachment]_

_I don't suppose these guys are related then? They kind of just showed up at my place today. Apparently they also go by Sans and Papyrus?_

Locking the phone you slip it into the back pocket of your jeans. With that now done you're another step closer to reclaiming your apartment—your normality! Gosh, isn't this exciting? You’ll be slipping right back into your regularly scheduled monotony in no time!

~~_But why’re you so eager to push this opportunity away?_ ~~

Because you can't guarantee you'll be safe, that you won't get hurt, you argue against that inner voice. It's always wanting you to take risks, to push yourself out of your comfort zone. Trying to tell you that you really aren't happy with the current setup to your life. But no. No, it has no idea what it's talking about. Of course you're happy. Of course you are.

“TSK.” Edgelord ...clicks his tongue? Somehow? effectively snapping you back to reality. He's still giving you that ‘holier than thou’ look as his maw parts, clearly eager to get back to his interrogation from earlier. “JUST WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, HUMAN, THAT YOU CAN JUST WALK OUT ON THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS?”

Yeesh. Control freak much?

You roll your eyes and mirror his pose, arms crossing over your chest, paper bag crinkling with each movement, and pop a hip to the side. There is no _way_ you are going to put up with this kind of bullshit in your own home.

“For your information, _Edgelord_ , my name is Y/n, and in case you didn't know, I live here. You and sweaty McSharktooth over there’re the ones who should be answering _my_ questions, considering the way you two just intruded into _my_ space.”

There's a split second where Papyrus’s eye sockets seem to widen but it's over before you're even sure that you saw it. You take a deep breath through your nose in an effort to calm yourself, and then press on.

“Look, Papyrus, Sans. I know it's been a good few years since the barrier was broken and monsters were integrated into society and all that, but excuse me if I need to take a moment to clear my head when two strangers (who look like edgy embodiments of the Grim Reaper, mind you) literally poof into my house. I know magic’s a thing now but that doesn't mean this is an everyday kinda deal for me, alright?”

“wait, hang on a sec,” Sans abruptly cuts in. “ya mean we're on the surface?”

Your brows furrow in confusion at that comment. You look to the shorter skeleton, some of the tension easing from your body. From all the hostility and anger exuded by Papyrus you had been preparing yourself to get into a fist fight or something; at the very least you were prepping yourself for a screaming match of epic proportions.

“Uh… duh?” Is your oh so elegant response. “Where the hell else would you be?”

“you mean we ain't underground?” You squint at him, head slowly shaking. Did they not even move from the living room in that hour and a half or so you were gone? You breathe out a quiet and low, drawn out “no…”

“holy shit.” he mutters, sparing a quick glance to the taller skeleton (who looks equally as shell shocked, you note) before focusing back on you. “yer jokin.”

He's looking at you, the emotion—the sheer _confusion_ —clear on his face. He almost looks like he’s just _daring_ you to confirm that this is all some kind of elaborate setup. A bead of sweat trickles down from the crown of his skull.

You shake your head harder, your hand slipping from where it's tucked between your opposite arm and torso to be angled at him, palm forward. A telltale sign for ‘stop, holdup’.

“No?” you respond, eyebrows raised, “I'm really not. That'd be a really shitty thing to joke about.”

The skeletons give each other a strange look and you can't help but to quirk a brow at their odd behavior. Why are they so _surprised_? Surely all monsters have migrated to the surface by now, let alone be aware that the barrier had fallen.

“You guys do know that Mount Ebott is something like… fifteen hundred miles northeast of here, right?”

It's silent for a moment, as if they need time to let this information really sink in. You absently register a muffled ping from your pocket as Sans mutters another “holy shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So no choice this time around, just a bunch of confused skeles and one human. I wonder what Classic!Papyrus has to say about the new skeletons in town...
> 
> So if you haven't noticed, I've decided to bump up the rating on this story to Mature. I decided this to be a safer decision as Fell!Sans—at least how I envision him—can be quite the lewd individual. I plan on making use of these aspects of his character, as well as more than likely treding into situations I would not feel comfortable having in a Teen rated work. So if sexual innuendos, dirty jokes, and the like make you uncomfortable, I suggest backing out now.
> 
> As always, feel free to come say hi on [tumblr](http://redeyedryu.tumblr.com/)!


	4. Perception and Peculiarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These guys are weird. Seriously, who doesn't know monsters have relocated to the surface by now?

“no way.” Sans says in disbelief.

You note with a bit of curiosity that those little pinpricks of red light in his eye sockets have disappeared. Weird.

“HUMAN…” Papyrus starts, taking a heavy step toward you. What, did he forget your name already or is he just being obstinate? You see his arm moving, shifting to reach for you. To Papyrus’s surprise, you twist and bend to avoid his grasp, taking the opening to slip between him and Sans.

“Nope.” you say as you maneuver into your apartment, intent on relocating to the living room. “Nice try, but you do not lay hands on me. If you have something to say you can use your words.”

You reclaim your corner seat on the couch from when this all first started, depositing the paper bag on the coffee table, right next to your laptop, and pull your phone into your hands. At least they hadn't messed with your computer—as far as you can tell, anyway.

You hear a very frustrated growl, some whispered arguing, and then, after a couple minutes, you're rejoined by the skeletons in the living room. Papyrus is standing right in front of you, blocking you on the couch from the front, and Sans unceremoniously plops himself in the space beside you. Subconsciously, the muscles on that side of your body tense, as if flinching away without actually doing so.

Papyrus is looking down at you, arms once again crossed. His gloved fingers seem to be twitching, as if he's holding himself back from making another grab at you. The earlier thought that he's probably used to getting his way is reinforced and in that moment, you decide you're going to indulge your petty side—you're going to give this particular skeleton hell and bask in every single second of doing so.

“So?” you prompt, unperturbed. “What was it that you wanted to say?”

His sockets squint, and he's surprisingly quiet for a beat, before he finally decides to break the silence that has settled.

“IT WOULD BE UNWISE FOR YOU TO LIE TO ME.” he starts. “IT IS INCONCEIVABLE THAT WE WOULD BE ABOVEGROUND.” You don't understand _how_ that can be so, but whatever, Edgelord. “TELL US THE TRUTH, HUMAN. WHERE ARE WE?”

You roll your eyes with a long suffering sigh and start fussing with the phone in your hands, twisting it this way and that, running your fingers along the black screen.

“Alright, first of all, Edgelord, in case you forgot, it's _Y/n_ , not ‘human’. I'll thank you to remember that.” You have to bite your cheek to keep the grin from your lips at the way he bristles at your attitude, at your unwillingness to let yourself be subjected to his demands. “Second, did neither of you so much as look outside while I was gone?” You have to wonder what they had been doing in here, all that time you were out. Surely they hadn't just been sitting in the living room, twiddling their thumbs, right? “I assure you, the windows are real and functional.”

Papyrus glares down at you, silent and unblinking. Perhaps he thinks he’s intimidating, that he can scare you into telling the ‘truth’. Fat chance there, mister.

To your side, you feel the couch shift, can hear the sound of bone scratching against bone. In your peripheral vision you can see more red sweat beading along Sans’s skull, he's scratching at the back of his neck (...spine?) and… is that a red tinge to his face or just a trick of the light? Weird. Sans is weird.

“Look,” you begin, leaning back into the plush cushion of the couch. “Don't get mad at me because you're too scared to confirm it yourself. The proof is literally right there.” You tilt your chin, indicating the window again.

Papyrus seems to twitch, fingers clenching, bunching the fabric where they lay. You merely quirk a brow.

And cue another staring match. Spiky, loudmouthed Halloween decoration versus one human that couldn't care less.

You're unsure how much time passes—if it's very much at all—before Sans’s voice cuts across your childish display.

“uh… b-boss,” his voice calls from across the room, “you gotta lookit this.”

Your attention snaps to him and you see the smaller skeleton at your window, bathed in golden sunlight. He has peeled back the heavy fabric of your curtains to reveal a late afternoon day, the sun working its way in a downwards arch towards the horizon. You cast a quick glance to your side and sure enough, that's empty space next to you. When the hell had he gotten over there?

Papyrus clicks his tongue again (does that mean he has one? What does it look like? Is it made of bone???) as he does an abrupt about face. He's at the window in only a couple quick strides.

Silence settles in the room as the two monsters stare out your window in reverence.

_What a strange reaction,_ you think. _It's like this really is their first time seeing the sun and the sky._ You have to wonder if they've been living under a rock or something, under that mountain, to only _now_ , practically a decade later, be seeing the sun. It begs the question of _where the hell did they come from_ before they poofed into your apartment?

Unable to continue watching the two (something uncomfortable twists and knots in the pit of your stomach the longer you do), you take the opportunity to look at your phone. Flicking the screen on shows a push notification from none other than ‘THE GREAT PAPYRUS’. You open the message.

**_THE GREAT PAPYRUS:_ ** _WOWIE! THERE REALLY ARE OTHER SKELETONS! THEIR STYLE IS A BIT STRANGE, I MUST ADMIT, BUT THAT’S OKAY, EVERYONE EXPRESSES THEMSELVES DIFFERENTLY!_

You huff a breath of air through your nose, a very subdued laugh, as the thought _what an adorable bean_ flickers across your mind. You read on.

**_THE GREAT PAPYRUS:_ ** _THIS IS MOST EXCITING, HUMAN! I MUST TELL SANS AT ONCE! SUCH EXCITING NEWS IS SURE TO… TICKLE HIS FUNNY BONE, NYEH HEH HEH!!_

You can’t help but to snicker at the pun, deciding that that's it, ‘THE GREAT PAPYRUS’ is, without a doubt, a cinnamon roll. Entirely too pure, too good for this world. You do find it interesting, however, that this Papyrus uses ‘human’ in much the same was as the spiky Papyrus—as if it was a title or something. You wonder if it's a skeleton thing, as any monster you've socialized with has never referred to you by your species before. Is it specific to Papyruses? ...Papyri. ???

You shake the thought away. You can inquire about it later, when this mess is all figured out and sorted.

You tap the entry field of the messenger, ready to type out a response, but before you can so much as enter a letter, the screen lights up with a call, a little tune slicing through the silence of your apartment.

You furrow your brows at your phone just as the skeletons at your window startle, their attention shifting back to you.

“wha… the heck’s that?” Sans is the first to speak, his little red eye lights wandering the room in search of the source of the noise. He quickly settles his gaze on you, on the little device clutched between your hands. “s’that yer phone?”

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?” Papyrus shouts, sounding almost personally offended by the ringing. “WHAT IS THAT INFERNAL RACKET?!” He shoots a heated glare your way, clearly blaming you. You barely contain the urge to roll your eyes. “HURRY UP ALREADY, HUMAN! EITHER ANSWER OR HANG UP! I WILL NOT TOLERATE SUCH DISRUPTIVE BEHAVIOR IN MY PRESENCE!” This time, you roll your eyes.

Glancing back at the ringing device in your hands, you see that you’ve got a call from ‘THE GREAT PAPYRUS’. Kind of weird. And out of the blue. And a little out of your comfort zone—you only just started talking to the guy _today,_ after all. Why is he calling you now? Doesn't texting suffice?

_As Papyrus begins to impatiently tap his foot, waiting for you to act, you decide to:_

> *** Answer the call. Maybe he has something important to tell you? Why else would he call you, a practical stranger?**
> 
> *** Ignore the call. Papyrus might be a precious bean but that's still a little too much, too soon for you.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... I wonder what Papyrus could want... Cast your votes, folks! And maybe we'll find out! :3c
> 
> [Come say hi on tumblr](http://redeyedryu.tumblr.com/), where I sit around and do absolutely nothing! :D


	5. Misunderstandings and Memes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You answer the call; misunderstandings ensue. You and Sans share a little memement and you make a skeleton pout.

**He called you for a reason, right? So you should answer the call, yeah?**

Papyrus is angrily tapping his foot, irritated that it's taking you so long to make a decision. You can hear something that sounds like a growl eminating from the explosive skeleton and have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep the grin off your lips. Maybe you'll let it ring a bit longer? Just to piss him off.

So you do just that.

You wait until the last possible second to answer the call, teeth clenching as you reign in a wicked grin. You imagine that if Papyrus had hair he'd probably be pulling at it by now, livid at your inability to do something as basic as answering a simple phone call. Eventually though, despite the anxiety bubbling in your chest, you force it down and hit ‘answer’, setting the call to speaker as Papyrus growls an exasperated, “FINALLY!” before returning his attention to gazing out the window.

Time to get this over with. And maybe give Edgelord a tiny break.

Before you get a chance to say anything, however—not even a greeting or an opportunity to breathe awkwardly into the receiver—you're met with a deep voice asking,  
  
"this some kinda sick joke?"

You're stunned into silence, blinking a couple times in your confusion. Is this Papyrus? The voice doesn't quite match up with what you had imagined—if anything, it reminds you of the smaller, rounder of the two skeletons; it's a low, rumbling baritone. And what does he mean? What's a 'sick joke'?  
  
"What?" is your very eloquent reply.

“look, _pal,_ ” he starts, pure venom to what would otherwise be a friendly moniker, “i dunno if this is just how you get your rocks off or what, but this ain't funny.”

You try to cut in but he doesn't stop, just keeps going off on you. That you're sick, that you need to get a life and stop dickin’ around with Papyrus.

Geeze, this guy isn't even giving you a chance to explain _anything_. Whatever. Might as well let him blow off whatever steam he's got, you can wait. He’s probably been on the verge of a meltdown for a while if this tirade is anything to go by. People don't typically just blow up like this for no good reason, after all.

 _Not unless they're ‘The Great and Terrible Papyrus’,_ your mind supplies dryly, causing you to huff air through your nose in a quiet laugh. Rather unfortunate that _you_ have to be the one on the receiving end of this outburst, though.

You lean back into the plush of the couch, eyes closing as you let the stranger on the other end do his thing.

It's easy to tune people out when you don’t let their words hold any weight over you.

You're not sure how much time passes, and at some point you feel the couch shift as someone sits down beside you (honestly a little closer than you’d like). Probably Sans, you think. Must have gotten his fill of the view. That or he’s curious about whoever it is that’s tearing you a new one.

Eventually, you tune back in to the rant on your phone just in time to hear,

“don't _ever_ let me catch you tryin’ to contact my brother again, _capiche ?”_

Seems he’s done with his rant, as well as expecting some sort of reply, considering he didn’t just hang up on you.

You’re admittedly kind of curious about what's going on in their lives if this is his automatic response to someone trying to make light conversation (though, to be fair, you might have instigated a potential existential crisis) with his brother, but decide you don't care enough to pursue that train of thought. The angry monster on the other line is still awaiting a response, so you take the opportunity to _finally_ speak up.

You take a deep breath, not bothering to open your eyes or lift your head from the cushion of the couch, and then release it. “You done?” you ask the voice on the other line. Silence is your only answer so you take that as a yes. “Look,” you continue with something of a sigh, “I don't know what's got your bones all rattled, mister, but I can assure you this isn't a joke. Believe me, that’d be _loads_ better than having to deal with this headache.

“I get that this is really weird and that pictures can be edited, and judging by your reaction just now, you've probably been dealing with some shit, so how about this…”

Cracking your eyes open, you pull your screen in front of you, the device lighting up with the motion. You zero in on the little camera icon on the interface and tap it, causing the screen to immediately begin displaying a thumbnail of your face; the live feed is undoubtedly being displayed to the ball of anger on the other line at a bigger resolution.

“It's a bit harder to edit live footage, right?” There's the shuffling of fabric as you sit up from your slouched position and shift your phone to capture the skeleton sitting beside you. And yup, kudos to you, that is definitely edgy mcsharktooth sitting next to you. “Say hi to Sans, Sans.”

The sharp-toothed skeleton beside you merely makes a sound reminiscent of a tongue clicking before flipping the camera the bird, looking rather smug over his childish display.

“Rude,” you half-heartedly scold as the sharp-toothed skeleton chuckles, before swiveling the phone to capture sight of Papyrus, who's still standing in front of your window. He looks pensive, standing there with his arms crossed, his expression tight, and his posture ramrod straight.

“And over here, we have Papyrus: Edgelord edition.” you announce. The addressed skeleton shifts his skull to send a scathing glare your way, his sockets narrowing, before he simply averts his attention back to the view outside. With a quiet laugh of air pushed through your nose, you twist the phone back to you.

“Still think I'm ‘dickin’ around’?” you query, your expression flat, one eyebrow raised.  
  
There's silence on the other line for a beat—long enough that you have to question whether or not Sans (and you know it's Sans for sure, he practically admitted it himself, after all) hung up on you. It's just as you're clicking a button at the side of your phone to illuminate your screen that his voice _finally_ breaks the silence that settled.  
  
"huh..." he scoffs, and you hear the strange sound of something hard scratching against something equally as unyielding. "wasn't... wasn't expectin' that." Yeah, take _that_ , mister grumpy pants, feel that guilt roll across your bones. "guess you really weren't messin' with paps..." There's the sound of what you assume to be bone rubbing against bone again before he says, "i uh... i s'pose i owe you an apology..."  
  
A corner of your mouth twitches, a smile tugging at his acquiescence, and proceed to click out of the video call, returning to voice only. Phone now resting on your chest, you're able to fully slouch back into the couch cushions, releasing a heavy breath of air as you do.  
  
"Yup."  
  
"sorry, bud."  
  
The apology doesn't really feel sincere, in all honesty, but at least he acknowledged that he was wrong. At least he made an attempt. ~~That’s more than you’ve gotten from others.~~ At his "apology" your grin grows full force, the corners of your lips curling. Your response is a near automatic, "Not your bud, pal."  
  
There's a snicker on the other line before Sans, not missing a beat, shoots back, "not your pal, friend."  
  
"Not your friend, mate."  
  
"not your m-"  
  
"th' fuck you two doin'?" snaps the skeleton at your side, effectively putting an end to your impromptu back-and-forth. You can't help but laugh.  
  
"Memes, Sans. Memes." you tell him, tilting your head to the side to grin at him. "Only the greatest of quality content the internet can provide."  
  
"th' fuck're 'memes'? 'internet'?" he questions you, the space around his nasal cavity and his eye sockets curiously scrunching up in his befuddlement. "don't cha mean th’ undernet?"  
  
You quirk a brow before shifting your head back to a forward facing position, head shaking ever so slightly in disbelief. "Oh man. You poor, poor soul."  
  
"tch. whatever, ya weirdos." he growls, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring off to the side. You're able to just make out his quiet mumbling of, "how would i know 'bout yer stupid aboveground jokes."  
  
"Hey," you nudge the pouting skeleton with your elbow, effectively getting him to look back at you (though the edges of his seemingly permanent grin appear tight and dipped). "No need to get all salty." You have to bite your lip at the way the ridges of his skull, just above his eye sockets, furrow like eyebrows in his confusion, trying to puzzle out how he could be considered salty without any salt—were you planning on dumping some on him or something? Was that another weird ass aboveground thing? Did humans sprinkle themselves with salt for some reason? Or was it just another dumbass expression? Probably that last one, he surmises.  
  
You, meanwhile, are still trying to maintain a semi-neutral façade. You're finding it _really hard_ to deny how fun it is, riling these two up. You can sparsely recall a time in the last few _years_ where you smiled and laughed as much as you have in the last hour or so. It feels... nice. Really nice.

So when you tell the grumpy skeleton, "I can give you a crash course—on memes and surface culture—if you want." you twist to face him, sincerity in not only your words but your expression as well.  
  
You see that curious little pin prick of light in his eye socket shift to look at you—he doesn't turn to face you, still sitting with his arms crossed and turned just slightly away—and simply makes that clicking sound again, "tch", before resuming his pouting. You think his skull looks a bit red but you're not sure—maybe the light's playing tricks on your eyes? Whether he's blushing some weird variant of a skeleton blush or not, you can't help but to snicker. Seems he's not quite used to sincerity and sentimentality.  
  
But you're getting off track now, aren't you? Since you still have Sans on the phone—well, blue Sans since red Sans is pouting at your side (goodness, this is going to get so confusing)—you might as well get to the heart of the matter. You take a deep breath, hold it for a beat, and then exhale, refocusing. You tilt your head down a fraction towards your phone and ask,  
  
"You still there, Sans?"  
  
The skeleton's deep voice answers, "yup."  
  
"Alright. Cool. Good." Oh god, stop yourself before you start rambling. "So since all that fun stuff's been cleared up, how about we get down to business? D'you know what's going on?" You cast a glance to the Sans sitting next to you as you pose the question. Yup, he's still pouting. "Either of you, actually. I take it y'all aren't pairs of twins that just so happen to share the same name as well as face."  
  
"heh. nah, they ain't that." Blue Sans is quick to respond.  
  
"Evil clones?"  
  
Red Sans sputters at your side and you think you hear Papyrus choke on air over by the window. "e-evil clo- tha heck kinda dumbass question izzat?!" the shark-toothed skeleton practically growls, now twisted to face you.  
  
You snicker and shift to sit sideways, to address him face-to-face. You prop your face up on your knuckles, elbow pressed into the cushion of the couch, and set your phone on the top of the couch. "Well I mean your brother does go around calling himself the great and _terrible_ . How else am I supposed to take that? Not to mention your guys' wardrobe choice."  
  
"tha heck's wrong with our clothes?" he snaps defensively, his eyelights dipping to take a quick glance at his attire before flicking back to you.  
  
"Nothing, nothing," you're quick to respond. You're biting your tongue, trying to keep yourself from laughing more. The Sans on the other end of the line, however, is chuckling unabashedly.  
  
"you dress like an edgy teenager, is what she's tryin' not to say," he manages to get out between his laughter.

Talk about tact. Thanks a _lot_ , Sans.  
  
"wha-! i ain't-! you don't-! sh-shut up." Red Sans stammers. Oh great, he's turned himself away from you again. He's embarrassed, isn't he?  
  
"Aw, come on, don't be embarrassed," you attempt to placate the flustered monster. "I think it looks pretty cool. Black and red go really well together!"  
  
"sh-shut th' fuck up n' stop messin' with me!" he practically snarls, that curious red tinge dusting across his skull again. You think maybe you should feel bad about teasing him but you're currently overcome with a pleasant sense of childish giddiness. It’s such a refreshing difference to always feeling so numb, so… _empty._  
  
"Okay, okay. Alright. I'm sorry, alright?" you manage to say, only letting a single, quiet giggle escape your lips. "Let's just move on and get back on topic, yeah?”

Red Sans doesn’t grumble or growl in disagreement, so you press on.  
  
"So if you're not clones—evil or otherwise—what _are_ you guys?"  
  
"i've got an idea," blue Sans speaks up. You look to the phone, curious. Red Sans's skull tilts ever so slightly in your direction; obviously listening too. Though you can't see the broody skeleton at your window with your back now turned on him, you're sure Papyrus is listening as well.  
  
"Yeah?" you prompt.  
  
"how familiar are you with the multiverse theory?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...（・○ ・` ）


	6. Exposition and Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get the feeling Sans is a lot smarter than the average stand-up comedian, the shark-toothed Sans lets slip some curious information about the Underground you probably shouldn't be privy to, and Papyrus is the ever impatient bean. You're not quite sure how you feel about all of this.

If magic and monsters hadn't been such a regular aspect of life for nearly a decade, if you hadn't grown up with it and the twists to reality and modern society it had brought, you probably wouldn't have been as receptive to blue Sans's explanation of The Edge Brothers's, as you decided to dub them, appearance.  
  
He had to dumb it down a bit for you, as he had quickly wound up getting lost on the more scientific aspects of parallel universes, physics, and all kinds of science mumbo jumbo that went completely over your head. Which, thinking on it, you found rather curious. Wasn't he some kind of comedian? Because he sure sounded a hell of a lot smarter and knowledgeable than someone who told jokes on a stage, making people laugh for a living. He had sounded like an actual, qualified scientist—like someone with multiple degrees and who had fancy letters tacked on before their name and who were addressed by a title but... well, that's none of your business, now is it? So you pushed the thought aside. No need to worry about something that doesn't really concern you.  
  
Interestingly enough, red Sans had joined in on the discussion as well, the two practically nerding out on various topics of quantum physics, trading in science jargon you had no hope of deciphering. They were both geeks, apparently. Though... if they were alternate versions of the same person you figured having similar interests probably went without saying.  
  
What it all eventually boiled down to was that The Edge Brothers came from a parallel universe. One that differed from your own in both major and minor aspects. While monsters in your reality were full of kindness—love, hope, and compassion blue Sans had said—the same could not be said of monsters in the other universe. At some point in their timeline red Sans confessed that monsters had become corrupted by hate. By vengeance, anger, and an insatiable amount of rage. Although the brunt of that anger was aimed towards humans—the creatures that had sealed them underground, who had stolen away the life of their prince, had taken everything from them, it did not end there. The Underground of The Edge Brothers' world was one that operated on the mantra of Kill or Be Killed.  
  
Being weak in that world was synonymous with a death sentence.  
  
The idea of such a brutal world made your skin crawl. Made your stomach churn and knot. You aren't the friendliest of people, that much you can attest to, but you at least know right from wrong—know the value of life and respect it.  
  
Coming from a world like that you can see why The Edge Brothers are so standoffish. You're actually surprised they hadn't tried to kill you the second their metaphorical eyes had set upon you—a _human_ —sitting before them, considering that in their world, monsters had yet to break the barrier. They were "waitin' fer 'nother human ta fall. jus' one more, 's all we needed," red Sans had muttered.  
  
When blue Sans had hastily coughed into the phone, interrupting red Sans from saying anything more on the subject, you were hit with the knowledge that you had very nearly become privy to something monsters more than likely didn't want people knowing. With that realization came the awareness that you were more than likely introduced to information the general populace wasn't even aware of, considering what little that _had_ been divulged was news to you.

To the general populace it had always been something of an enigma as to how monsters had been freed, how they lived and functioned beneath that mountain for so long. Sure you knew there was some kind of barrier and that a kid (Phil? Pheonna? ...Frederick? Why is it so hard for you to remember their name?) had supposedly broken it, but other than that tidbit of information, monsters had been rather tight lipped on the matter. No one explained exactly _how_ they had achieved freedom, what went into breaking a millennium old, magical barrier, nor how a _10 year old child_ was able to accomplish something no one else had in _centuries_. You have the vague recollection of the word "determination" getting thrown around a lot for some reason but other than that? Nobody knows, though theories and speculation abound.

And yet… the way red Sans had worded that statement… Monsters only needed a human, (just. one. _more_ ) coupled with the way blue Sans had so obviously tried to change the subject, piqued your curiosity. You filed the information away for later.

With the subject of monsters needing a human and how that related to their freedom awkwardly dropped, that had left you all to address a few tough questions: What were you going to do about The Edge Brothers? How were they going to get back? _Could_ they get back? _How had they even arrived in the first place?_

When prompted, the brothers had both admitted they hadn't a clue regarding their arrival. There was a strange jumble of events in their memory; being at their respective job, some kind of fight (though that was nothing odd, not in their world), a searing pain, a brief sensation of nothingness and an all encompassing blackness (or had it been a blinding whiteness? The brothers couldn't seem to agree on one or the other), and then they had found themselves in your living room, face-to-face with a real-live human for the first time in their existence.

Papyrus had made the offhand comment that if not for the fog that had clouded his mind upon their appearance, he would have killed you the second he had laid eyes on you. He told you you were welcome that he had spared you, that you should be grateful and that it was okay for you to bask upon his greatness. You had merely squinted at him and muttered a rather dry, “thanks.” Guess that answered your question as to why you were still breathing.

On the matter of if and how The Edge Brothers could return to their own reality, blue Sans had said he would need to look into some things on his end, speak with a few people, and check some equations. There had then been the shuffling of papers on his end, the opening and closing of what sounded like a desk drawer, more shuffling of papers and then some quiet mumbling that he’d need to clear his schedule and cancel a few shows so he could focus.

Basically, blue Sans needed some time. And by some, what he actually meant was a couple weeks. Minimum. Maybe a month.

Which lead to the first problem: what to do with the edgy skeletons imposing upon you?

Blue Sans suggested they bunk with you.

“Can't I just. I don't know, toss ‘em onto the next bus headed your way or something?” you had suggested, eager to rid yourself of this headache of a situation as fast as possible and less than happy at the idea of having to share your home with a couple of strangers. “Then you two can nerd out on science together and captain tight-pants can brag to his alternate self about how shiny his boots are or whatever.”

Both Sanses had chuckled at that (though you noted that curious red perspiration dotting the crown of red Sans’s skull) while Papyrus merely scoffed, affronted.

“yeah, sure,” blue Sans had replied, “send the monsters from a murder world, that’ve never set foot on the surface—let alone interacted with a human before you—out into public. alone. ‘m sure nothin’d go wrong.”

It was then your turn to scoff. Was blue Sans seriously going to play that card? Talk about low.

“Wow,” you had said, brows raising and eyes widening. “Has anyone ever told you that you're kind of an asshole?”

“you wouldn't be the first,” he had chuckled dryly.

“If they get into shit that's on them; I'm not their babysitter.” You had huffed and crossed your arms, indignant, not outright shooting down his idea but not accepting it either.

“fair ‘nough,” blue Sans had acquiesced, “but hear me out, would ya? the nearest monster embassy’s almost two states away, otherwise i’d recommend dropping ‘em off there. put up with them ‘til i can make it out your way and i'll make it up to ya, alright?”

You had been about to ask exactly how he planned on doing that when Papyrus interrupted, tsk-ing.

“STOP TALKING ABOUT US AS IF WE AREN’T HERE, YOU OBNOXIOUS, INFERIOR COPY.”

“ ‘m not a copy.”

“I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW WE ARE PERFECTLY CAPABLE OF TAKING CARE OF OURSELVES. WE DON’T NEED THE _SNIVELING_ SYMPATHY OF A PATHETIC HUMAN.”

“ ‘Sniveling’?”

Silence had settled after that, nothing too heavy or oppressive (it bordered more on awkward, if anything), before you heard blue Sans sigh.

“listen, paps,” he had started, voice soft and beseeching—and for a moment, he sounded so incredibly tired that you once more wondered what the world had thrown at him and his brother, pondered on what they could have gone through since coming to the surface to bring that all too familiar tone to his voice. “i know this place probably isn't as bad as where you come from, but just trust me on this, alright? the surface ain’t as safe a place as you might think. ‘specially not for monsters. just stay with the human for now, would ya?”

That had caused you to frown, perplexed. Something clenched in your chest, tight and acridic. Had the world really treated monsters so harshly? Have you been ignorant of their struggles this whole time? You tried to push the unease away. It's not your problem. You won't have to worry about it once these two are out of your life.

_It's not my problem; don't worry about it,_ you had silently repeated to yourself like a mantra, but your stomach wouldn't stop churning. You ignored it and shifted your attention. _It’s not important, it doesn't matter._

You had expected some kind of scathing retort from Papyrus but when you looked at him you had to do a double take. He hadn’t looked offended or peeved at the request like you had assumed he would be, instead, there was an oddly tender expression on his face. Like he was remembering a fond memory or something. It was gone the second you blinked, however, replaced once more with that stoney, intimidating scowl of his.

A beat of silence passed before Papyrus growled, “FINE,” and turned his back to everyone. Guess that was one argument you wouldn't have to deal with.

In the end, you begrudgingly acquiesced to blue Sans’s proposition and told him you were holding him to his word and that he _damn_ well better make it up to you _or else._ He just laughed you off with a nonchalant, “sure, sure; will do, bud.”

The two of you discussed the specifics of keeping in touch (which entailed you and blue Sans exchanging numbers and promising to check in via text, at the bare minimum, once every other day and never to exceed more than two days of radio silence) and once that was all settled, and after blue Sans had made a vague threat to The Edge Brothers that should anything happen to you by their hands, they’d be in for one hell of a “bad time,” you had bid each other a good night.

The breath you had released once that call had ended could have easily toppled a house made of bricks.

You, red Sans, and Papyrus had then proceeded to sit in silence for a good few minutes, each person digesting everything that had just happened and that had been revealed, before you eventually pulled yourself up from the couch, stuffing your phone into a pocket as you did.

“I'm going to bed,” you had simply announced, rolling your shoulders and swaying your head from side to side, moaning at the satisfying pops your actions had elicited. You then spoke again, declaring to the others that, “One of you can sleep on the couch, the other can have the bed in the guest room—decide who gets what among yourselves.” As you rounded the couch and made to move down the hall adjacent to the kitchen and living room, you paused, twisting back to announce over your shoulder, “There’re a couple a’ burgers and fries in the bag on the coffee table.” You nodded to the discarded paper bag you had set on the table earlier with a nod. “Eat ‘em or not, it's up to you. G’night.”

You had then relocated to your bedroom, mindlessly going through the motions of getting ready for bed as the sound of the brothers bickering filtered in through the door. You did your best to ignore them and focus on getting some sleep.

This all lead you to where you are now: laying wide awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the near pitch-blackness of your room, a few, _long_ hours since you had initially tried to turn in for the night, mind far too abuzz with processing the day’s events. There is an uncomfortable pressure in your chest, an odd sensation of something barely contained, like a pot teetering between a turbulent boil and just exploding all over the place. Your stomach is still churning. Never before have you thought you would wind up in a situation like this. You're pretty sure you hate it.

As much fun as you were having talking to blue Sans and teasing The Edge Brothers—red Sans especially so (you hadn't pegged him as the easily flustered type)—you can't help but yearn for the sweet predictability of normality (you pointedly ignore that voice in the back of your head that tries to tell you you aren't as against this strange turn of events as you'd like to convince yourself you are).

You drag in a heavy breath, hold it for a moment, and then exhale just as deeply. You blink and stare at the darkened ceiling. What the hell are you supposed to do about this? You're sharing your apartment with  _strangers_ you  _just_ met and know next to nothing about. That's just not something the average person goes and does! You sigh and roll onto your side, one arm sliding under the pillow at your head while the other clenches your blanket and body pillow tight to your chest. You close your eyes in a vain attempt to will yourself to sleep.

_Don't think about it,_ you tell yourself in the vain attempt to quell your turbulent mind. _There's no point in getting yourself worked up. Just go to sleep. It's not worth it._

You continue on like this for another hour or so, shifting positions to get yourself more comfortable every few minutes while silently trying to convince yourself that you're okay, that everything’s fine, before your brain finally decides it's tormented you enough. You drift off to a sleep that is mercifully free of any dreams—tumultuous or otherwise. Tomorrow's problems can be dealt with tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while, hasn't it? Sorry 'bout that, folks! Here's hoping the next chapter doesn't take as long to get out... ( •́ㅿ•̀);; 
> 
> Here's a question for y'all though: Are there any kind of shenanigans you'd like to see the Fell brothers get into, with or without Reader? Feel free to drop a comment if you'd like to see them get into "trouble" and I might just work it into the fic. ;)
> 
> And just a quick reminder that [ you can find me on tumblr](http://redeyedryu.tumblr.com/), if you frequent the site.


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